I’ve been told that Bobby Kennedy originated the quote and that even he cribbed it from someone else. Our idols have feet of clay. Still a great sentiment.

I am a strange bird and not everyone’s cup of tea.

I was a child when John F. Kennedy was president and was assassinated. I was in class in third grade when they announced it over the speaker. Television was broadcast in black

This is a good way to grow up: Free Range Parenting. Just don’t have my parents raising you.

and white and phones were shared party lines. As children we pretty much went anywhere we felt and did what we wanted to do and as long as we didn’t get injured or arrested and got home for dinner, nobody cared.

Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were both killed when I was 12 and I was 13 when we put a man on the moon.

My formative years were the Cold War. Duck and cover drills, fallout shelters, and several very close brushes with nuclear war. Real global civilization-ending nuclear war, not just North Korea or a bunch of terrorists popping off a city or two or even India and Pakistan mixing it up. Just young enough not to have been drafted and sent to Vietnam.

The very real threat of the Soviet Union gave us a common enemy to unite against. Most adults remembered World war II and most middle aged men had served in it, another source of unification.

There were only four broadcast television networks, including PBS. No Internet. Thick newspapers delivered the daily news while three or four major news magazines delivered monthly analysis from somewhat different perspectives. It was a golden age for print media. Reading mattered.

The limited number of news outlets meant they all had to appeal to the middle. That also unified us. Today we easily pick and choose which truth confirms our biases, a big reason the country is splintering.

The country was split along broad ideological lines but there was nothing like the fracturing we see today. OTOH, we didn’t have bodycam footage to show us the racially-based brutality of police encounters. When we did see some during the civil rights demonstrations of the 60s, it still offended most of us. LGBTQ people were not safe anywhere and that didn’t offend quite as many.

There a lot of good things going on in the 60s and a lot of bad. A working-class man could buy a house and support a wife and 2 kids on a 40 hour week. OTOH, a woman was never going to get the chance to work that same blue-collar job. Her career opportunities were extremely limited. “Trans” didn’t even exist in public awareness.

The autism spectrum didn’t exist as a “thing.” Just meant you were the butt of jokes and bullying. At best you were a geek or a nerd. Authorities might decide you were antisocial and incorrigible. At worst they locked you away in special ed classes and institutions.

If we could combine the freedom and prosperity of the ’60s with the progressive movement of the 2020s, we’d have a damn near perfect world.

I was a teenage “survivalist,” worked in the fields, loved firearms and animals, grew up in awe of science and the space program, and was a fiscally conservative, socially liberal, neurally diverse, clothing allergic, social liberal in a God-fearing bible-thumping ultra-conservative corner of the country. IOW, I fit in nowhere.

At the time I write this, I’m 63 years old and semi-retired, married and have 2 adult children, 2 dogs, 2 cats, and a rescued desert tortoise. I most often post about anime. I know older men aren’t supposed to enjoy anime, let alone want to share their opinion with a much younger audience. I ignore rules like that. You are as young as you type.

I have older followers too. They even catch my references to 1960s pop culture. 😉

I can be politically incorrect for everyone, regardless of your politics. An equal opportunity iconoclast. I hate ideologies, I hate authoritarianism, and I hate labels.

I love nature photography and hiking and the wilderness. Many of my posts are about such. I grew up surrounded by near-wilderness. You can take the boy out of the wild but you can’t take the wild out of the boy.

Foothill Poppy